Terms of Surrender
by embyr81788
Summary: AU. As a gesture of good-will, the Champion of Gryffindor is sent to negotiate the terms of surrender with Voldemort’s heir-apparent. A peace treaty won’t be the only thing on the table. HD.
1. The Laying Down of Arms

**Terms of Surrender**  
_Part One: The Laying Down of Arms_

**Disclaimer:** Temporarily borrowed from J.K Rowling.  
**Author's Notes:** This story was inspired by Troy and the setting reinforced by Woman of the Dunes. Something about hot sun and sand is very appealing when one is stuck in a land of perpetual winter.  
**The Background**: Although this story still takes place in a magical universe, magic is not easily channeled or refined, thus no wands. Magic-users such as Harry and Draco can pull energies from their environment to create one large blast of tangible power, which would cripple their enemies, but would never be able to execute something as complicated as transfiguration or delicate as household cleaning spells.  
**Summary:** AU. As a gesture of good-will, the Champion of Gryffindor is sent to negotiate the terms of surrender with Voldemort's heir-apparent. A peace treaty won't be the only thing on the table. HD.

* * *

Squinting at the sun's glare, Draco Malfoy impatiently signaled for his retinue to move forward a few steps. The fan boy yelped and scrambled to follow his master, wincing as the sand burned the soles of his feet. Draco couldn't have care less as he scouted ahead with a makeshift telescope to assess the enemy's forces. When he heard Blaise's mount pull up beside him, the blonde prince murmured, "Are the men in position?"

His Captain's response was immediate. "Yes, Sire. The archers are in position and a second regiment has been instructed to guard our flank."

"Excellent," Draco said allowing a faint smirk to touch the corners of his lips. He scanned the horizon lazily, pleased to see that the enemy forces numbered significantly less than his own. Then again, as Draco's eyes caught sight of a small contingent, lead by a dark haired soldier, perhaps numbers wouldn't be the deciding factor in this particular battle. 

The lone figure in scarlet robes sat on his horse easily, as if he had been in this position hundreds of times. Perhaps he had, Draco mused, if his reputation held any kernel of truth.

Harry Potter. The Champion of Gryffindor and the only man to have faced Lord Voldemort single-handedly and survived to tell the tale. That in itself was an incredible feat, for the Dark Lord was renowned for his masterful swordsmanship as much as he was for his vicious brutality towards all who would oppose him.Some said that Voldemort had simply been too overconfident in his abilities and had allowed young Potter to seize his chance to deal a crippling blow and escape. Other rumors, which were discouraged from being spread under pain of death, was of an ancient prophesy for which Harry Potter was dubbed the Chosen One--blessed with some divine power to end Voldemort's tyranny over the land once and for all. Prophecy or no, Draco felt a certain it necessary to put a stop to Potter before the dissent began to ferment amongst the Dark Lord's sworn vassals. 

The pursuit of Harry Potter had now culminated in this battle, in which the last, limping forces of three great Houses banded together to make one final stand against the crushing might of Voldemort's undead army. The fourth House had thrown their lot with Voldemort, and had never looked back. One usually didn't when one was assured of being on the winning side. 

Draco felt a wave of annoyance wash over him, dampening his sense of triumph. Unfortunately, the setting wasn't quite what he had expected. The opposing troops had marched relentlessly, finally meeting in the middle of a deserted wasteland, with nothing but sand stretching out for miles in either direction. No doubt it was chosen to minimize the casualties. The blonde prince sneered at the thought. Had he been on the other side, he would have conscripted every last man, woman and child from all three Houses in order to buy time as decoys. Citizens were expendable. They would've served well as human shields. 

No matter, Draco thought dismissively as he snapped for water. Soon, the terms of surrender would be presented to Dumbledore's envoys. If they possessed half the intelligence Voldemort gave them credit for, they would fall to their knees and kiss the ground Draco walked on for allowing them to leave with the skin off their backs. The image pleased the blonde prince greatly. The sooner this farce was over, the sooner Draco could return back to civilization and enjoy his status as Voldemort's heir apparent.

Swallowing a mouthful of stale-tasting water, he threw the flask aside as he signaled his retinue to continue forward and maneuvered his mount towards the approaching figures. He was pleased to see three wore scarlet robes of the Order and that the one in the lead was the dark haired man he had previously spied through his telescope.

Both sides pulled up short, leaving about twelve paces between them. For a moment, there was absolute silence as the horses whinnied nervously, pawing the sand. There were three other individuals who had come with Potter, but Draco barely noticed their existence, concentrating all of his attention on the leader. 

"Harry Potter," Draco smirked, adjusting his green mantle. "At last we meet."

"I would say it was my pleasure, but circumstances dictate otherwise," was the smooth reply. The dark haired man loosened his face coverings, allowing them to fall away to reveal a handsome, tanned face with a firm jaw. His nose was slightly crooked and there was a lightning bold shaped scar on his forehead, no doubt trophies from one of his many battles, but what drew Draco's attention were Potter's impossibly emerald green eyes, which were now blazing with righteous anger. 

The blond prince felt his throat go dry, which had nothing to do with their desert surroundings. No rumors whispered in the barracks could have prepared him to meet the illustrious Harry Potter in person. The magical aura that emanated from the Chosen One was thick, rolling off of him in waves, saturating both parties with Potter's signature power. From the look on Blaise's face, this trait hadn't escaped his notice either, and the dark haired captain moved subtly closer to his prince. He needn't have bothered, for rather than feeling intimidated, Draco felt pleasantly intoxicated surrounded by the magically charged air. He snapped his fingers for water, which was promptly delivered by the fan boy. Even that tasted sweet on his tongue after a few seconds of being exposed to Potter's presence. 

His expression must have been obvious, for Potter frowned and shifted in his seat, looking subtly around for some kind of trap. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not at all," Draco all but purred. He saw as Blaise shot him an astonished look and ignored him. "Let's talk terms, Potter."

This seemed like the correct thing to say, for the dark haired man scowled and straightened himself. "I think we both know that _talking_ won't get us anywhere, but for the sake of posterity," Potter cleared his throat. "The Order demands Voldemort cease his military activities on the borders, disband his army, and submit himself to a tribune to be tried for war crimes. He will be made to pay reparations to the families who have been affected by this war." 

"That's where you're wrong, Potter," Draco drawled. "Seeing as how the Dark Lord cannot even mount a horse since you dealt him that crippling blow, he couldn't possibly have acted directly in any of the matters thus previously mentioned." The look of surprise on Potter's face was worth that little capitulation. Surely the Chosen One had a right to know just how close Voldemort had been to dying. "Had you struck a quarter-inch higher, we wouldn't be having this conversation. As such, Lord Voldemort is very much alive, but has been confined to his chambers, leaving only once a day to enjoy the sun and his private gardens."

"Don't listen to him, Harry! That boot-licking bastard would say anything to protect his master," the red-head behind Potter burst out furiously. He was quelled with a raised hand from Potter. Draco sneered. Weasleys never did have the proper breeding necessary to associate in polite company. 

"I, on the other hand," the silver-eyed prince continued as if he had not been interrupted, "Have been named Voldemort's successor and have acted in his name for the past decade. So in truth, it is _I_who have committed all manner of atrocities and so it is _I_ who would face a less than sympathetic war tribune—a prospect which is less than pleasing, I assure you."

"Then it seems that we are at an impasse," Potter said stiffly, his lips thinned perceptibly and Draco felt another rush of magical energy as the dark haired man tried to restrain his frustration. 

"Not quite," the blonde prince said softly. "You haven't even heard our demands."

Potter shook his head. "Isn't that obvious? No doubt our unconditional surrender and eternal servitude."

"You're only half-right," Draco smirked still feeling somewhat light-headed. "In exchange for your unconditional surrender, I will allow the Heads of the Great Houses to keep their title and position in a lesser capacity. The political systems and social structures can remain, but they will be secondary to the infrastructure that will be implemented to oversee the governance of the populace. There will also be a modest yearly tribute that will be exacted based on annual production."

"I'd rather die than give this pompous asshole a single Knut," Weasely snarled. 

"That can be arranged," Blaise said quietly, fingering the pommel of his sword. 

"Enough!" Potter barked. His friend flushed angrily, but subsided, satisfying himself by glaring alternately at Draco and Blaise. 

Potter's green eyes were trained intently on Draco. "We could fight, as we originally intended." 

"You could pit your troops against mine," Draco conceded. "But surely you can see that my military power outnumbers your combined forces three times over. We would overwhelm you in numbers alone and I would never have to tap my reinforcements or reserves. Thousands of your kinsmen will be slaughtered needlessly, on top of the thousands that have already died to help you arrive at this point. There is no chance of retreat, no escape from this fate, but the one I offer now. Such a clear advantage allows me to be more magnanimous than usual. 

"Of course," the blonde prince continued, licking his lips, pleased with the uneasy expression on Potter's face, "Should you decide to surrender, I would want a gesture of good-faith to ensure your continued cooperation."

Potter frowned. "Since when has a Gryffindor's word come into question?"

"These are trying times," Draco shrugged, feigning regret. "One cannot be too careful." Already, his mind was working out a plan to ensnare Potter, and from the look on the Chosen One's face, it seemed like he was ready to take the bait. 

"And what exactly did you have in mind?" Potter asked, his green eyes narrowing in suspicion. At least he wasn't completely naïve. 

"You," Draco said simply.

The red-head swore. "There's not a chance in Hell we'd hand Harry over to you! Not when every Death Eater has orders to kill him on sight!" Turning to Potter, he said, "Harry, I don't know why you're even humoring this bastard. Any promises he makes won't be worth the paper it's written on." 

"And what reason would I have to kill the Boy-Who-Lived? The war will have ended and dissidents scattered. The figurehead position Potter is filling will have become obsolete and by the time the new government has been instated, it would be in my better interest to have someone with ties to the Great Houses by my side to off-set any thoughts of future rebellion. It would be a mutually beneficial partnership which will bring about a lifetime's worth of peace. 

The silver-eyed prince smirked. "And besides, I do believe Potter is more than capable of defending himself against any wayward hexes hurled his way."

The Weasley opened his mouth angrily to protest, but Potter forestalled him by holding his hand out to Draco to shake, his jaw set in a determined line. "The conditions are fair. If you swear to uphold your end of the bargain, I don't see any reason not to do the same. I accept your terms, Malfoy."

"Excellent," Draco smiled, extending his hand to clasp Potter's. The moment their hands touched, there was a strange hum that rippled throughout Draco's body, making the ends of his hair stand up. Absently, he licked his lips again as he gazed at Potter through half-lidded eyes. Oh yes, this would certainly be a mutually beneficial partnership for both of them. 


	2. The Cessation of Hostilities

**Terms of Surrender**  
_Part Two: The Cessation of Hostilities_

**Author's Notes:** It's summer, which means my most pressing issue is finding work. Since no prospects have turned up, I hope to be able to get in a few more updates for some of my other on-going projects so that I don't feel like a complete slacker. Two down. One to go.  
**Disclaimer:** Ownership is overrated.  
**Summary:** AU As a gesture of good-will, the Champion of Gryffindor is sent to negotiate the terms of surrender with Voldemort's heir-apparent. A peace treaty won't be the only thing on the table. HD.

* * *

Malfoy's terms were generously unexpected. Harry had expected the offer to come after three-quarters of his forces had been decimated—if at all. The blonde prince had a notoriously sadistic streak when it came to his enemies. It was no wonder he was Voldemort's right-hand man. Hand-picked at the tender age of fourteen, Draconis Lucius Malfoy had quickly risen from the ranks of Death Eater to heir-apparent and now it seemed that he was leader in all but name.

Even now Malfoy sat easily on his mount, his pale face shaded from the ravages of the sun by his hapless fan boy. His features were sharp and pointed—typical of Slytherin nobility—while his figure was lean and slender. Carefully styled white-gold hair framed his face, making him look almost angelic in the right lighting. However, his penetrating mercury eyes, hardened by years of battle, belayed that romantic sentiment.

These were the thoughts that ran through Harry's head as he shook Malfoy's hand, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the blonde's intense, unblinking gaze.

Behind him, Ron Weasley, a member of the Order, and one of his closest friends bristled angrily at the arrogant prince. "And how do we know you'll keep your word? Everyone knows all Slytherins are backstabbing liars."

"Ron!" a scarlet clad companion hissed at the red-head. Hermione Granger was another Order member who held a similar place as one of Harry's closest confidante. She was the most brilliant witch of her age and had been invaluable to the cause due to her skill as a Healer. Her other, less advertised, skill was a touch of Empathic ability which allowed her to subtly influence the emotions of those around her, which she put to use now to quiet the blustering red-head.

Malfoy, instead of being offended looked amused. "Of course I don't expect this armistice to conclude with a bit of handshaking." The fair-headed commander gestured to his captain. "Blaise, I want you to dismiss Nott, Avery and Rookwood from the battlefield. Tell them that they are to take their regiments and return back to their estates to await my further instructions."

The dark-skinned captain saluted smartly and wheeled his stallion back to the Slytherin camp to execute Malfoy's orders.

"You can see for yourself that by nightfall one fourth of my army will be on their way home," Malfoy spread his hands palm up to signify his sincerity. His body language also held no hidden guile. "However, you had best keep in mind that they are only a few hours ride away, should you begin to entertain thoughts of treachery." He looked squarely at Harry, ignoring the other members of his party. "Will this suffice?"

"Yes," Harry whispered, hardly able to believe his ears. Although the Slytherin army was still sizable, with three of the largest regiments being sent home, it effectively cut down Malfoy's physical force by half. The rest were Inferi, mindless simulacrums created with death magics. They required only small infusion of magical energies from a caster in order to become animate. Though they weren't skilled warriors by any means, the Inferi's strength lay in their ability to continue attacking despite incurring wounds that would be mortal to humans, and eventually wearing their opponent down by sheer numbers. Intelligence gleaned from Severus Snape, a defective Death Eater confirmed that Malfoy was the only magic user with enough power to sustain such a large number of Inferi and as such, the mindless drones would obey orders only from the blonde prince.

Harry turned back to his party. "Please inform Dumbledore that I will be a guest of Draconis Malfoy until this agreement has been put in writing to the satisfaction of all parties involved. We shall reconvene in a fortnight to sign the necessary documents." He imparted a few more brief instructions to the other Order members before requesting them to return to their side of the battlefield.

They all reluctantly agreed, except for the Ron, who looked indignant at the thought of leaving his best friend in a nest of vipers. "But Harry--"

Harry put up a hand to forestall further attempts to convince him to return to the Gryffindor camp until the treaty was drawn up. "I've already given my word, Ron. I'm honor-bound to carry it through, as long as Malfoy holds up his end."

"That ferret-faced bastard will as likely put a knife in your back than honor his agreement," Ron hissed, continuing to glare at Malfoy in a not-so-subtle manner. Behind him, Harry could feel the prince's patience waning. The two large brutes that flanked Malfoy were growling threateningly. Harry knew violence was likely to erupt at any moment, which would destroy their carefully cultivated plan.

"You trust me, don't you?" Harry asked with a touch of desperation. Ron hesitated before nodding slowly, looking somewhat torn by his agreement. "If something should happen, you know I can handle myself. I've faced much worse than this," the dark haired boy grinned as he made a reference to his battle with Voldemort.

"I still don't like it," Ron said, but thankfully, he had wheeled his steed around towards the scarlet and gold banners. "Send word immediately if there's even a hint of trouble. We'll get you out." The last part was more for Malfoy's benefit.

The blonde smirked, silver eyes glinting mockingly. "What makes you think Potter will want to be rescued? If anything, a fortnight in my company will open his eyes to the rabble he's surrounded by. Don't be too surprised if Potter decides to extend his stay."

Ron flushed, his hand dropping to his left hip, where his sword would have customarily resided. However, because of the nature of envoys, both parties had agreed to a mutual disarmament for this particular meeting. Encountering nothing but air, the red-head's expression darkened, and Malfoy gave a short bark of laughter, which was picked up by the rest of the Slytherin party.

Deciding to stop this exchange before it could come to blows, Harry reached over and laid a restraining arm on his friend. "I'll be back," he said quietly. "I promise."

Whatever Ron saw in Harry's expression must have reassured him, for the red head nodded once, shot one final glare in Malfoy's direction, before galloping off after the others. Harry watched, his hand shielding his eyes from the sun, until the figure was no more than a speck in the distance. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned to the blonde prince and smiled with as much cheer as he could muster. "Shall we?"

Malfoy looked at him speculatively, his head tilted to one side as if he was trying to fathom the secrets hidden behind Harry's contrived smile. As the object of such intense scrutiny, Harry felt uncomfortably like he was being regarded with something akin to hunger.

The moment passed, and the blonde snapped imperiously to signal his party's return. Behind Malfoy, the small fan boy cringed slightly at the thought of having to traverse the miles of scorching sand in his bare feet.

Harry recognized the fan boy as Colin Creevy—captured during a Death Eater raid earlier that year. The boy looked thinner than before and more skittish than Harry remembered.

"Need a ride?" Harry offered sympathetically, holding out his hand. From the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy raise a single eyebrow as if to say 'Typical Gryffindor nobility'.

Colin's eyes widened, torn between accepting Harry's offer and being punished for shirking his duties. His indecision seemed to amuse the Slytherin Prince. "By all means," Malfoy drawled waving his assent. Needing no further encouragement, Colin quickly grabbed onto Harry's hand and clambered onto Harry's chestnut colored mount.

Firebolt whickered at the added weight, but bore both passengers patiently as Harry guided her towards the enemy camp, with two hulking bodyguards on either side of him. All Harry could do was watch the back of Malfoy's head while he planned how to execute the next phase of his plan. His timing would have to be perfect. In a camp full of Slytherins, there would be no room for error.

The ride itself was silent except for the occasional jangling of the riding equipment. The distance to the Slytherin encampment was shorter than Harry had originally thought, and before long, he was approaching a heavily guarded entrance. Malfoy simply waved the guards aside before gesturing his party to enter. He followed shortly after, this time riding beside his dark haired guest.

Judging from the hostile greeting, Harry could see that the camp had not been forewarned of his coming, and many were fingering their weapons threateningly as he passed by. Years of mutual enmity made both them quick to distrust Gryffindors on sight and only Malfoy's presence prevented immediate bloodshed. No doubt the Slytherins believed that Harry would soon be dealt with by their leader. He shrugged. There was no need to disabuse them of that notion.

The party made its way to the largest tent in the camp and once they arrived, Malfoy dismissed them all, except for Colin, with orders to await further commands. To the fan boy, he ordered refreshments brought to his chambers. Colin hopped off of Firebolt with an alacrity that testified to Malfoy's strict training, and disappeared into bustling crowd with Harry's horse in tow. Harry felt a pang of sadness. He had been comforted by Firebolt's steady, yet quiet company. With the stallion's departure, Harry's last link to his House disappeared.

"As a guest, you will be housed in my personal living quarters as a symbol of our newfound unity," the Slytherin Prince drawled, drawing Harry's attention back to him. The blonde looked somewhat annoyed at having been ignored earlier. "You're welcome to explore any part of the camp at your leisure, but I strongly recommend against venturing outside of the camp. The Inferi posted as sentries have orders to kill anyone attempting to leave or enter the compound without proper authorization.

"While you're here, I also advise you not to make any sudden movements," Malfoy murmured softly, in Harry's ear. His hand rested on the small of Harry's back as the dark haired warrior felt himself being guided into the Slytherin's private quarters. Harry was unsurprised to find that it was very spacious and opulently furnished. Rich brocaded tapestries hung from the walls while velvet divans provided convenient lounging areas. The inside the tent significantly cooler, which was a welcome reprieve from the dryness of the desert.

Malfoy didn't seem quite as comfortable, opting to shed his stately green mantle in favor for a lighter, knee-length silk emerald wrap, threaded with silver. His bare chest was adorned with a thick silver necklace with a variety of precious gems picked in the design. The overall effect made him look every inch the regal Slytherin Prince and Harry was hard put to avert his eyes.

"I see you've gone native," Harry grinned. He chose to busy himself with his robes, shedding only the outer layer, which was covered in sand.

"When in the wastelands, do as the barbarians do, as I always say," Malfoy seemed pleased with Harry's open admiration, but wary at the same time. He took several steps towards the dark haired man, stopping only when they were face-to-face. He was so close in fact, that Harry was able to make out the pale freckles which dotted his nose. "Do not make the mistake of assuming I am defenseless, Potter. The Inferi are fanatically loyal. Any attempts to threaten my person will be met with a swift death."

"I've heard as much," Harry said, more uneasy with the blonde's closeness than any threat the Inferi might pose. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease as he nodded towards the divan. "However, I must admit my surprise," Harry said, taking a seat. "I didn't think forthrightness was a character trait attributed to Slytherins."

"These are exceptional times, Potter," Malfoy purred, as he slid next to Harry. The stretch that followed was innocuous enough, but the Gryffindor found that their legs were suddenly pressed together, emanating a steady heat. "We're allies, are we not?"

"You speak as if we are equals," Harry frowned, pointedly moving away from Malfoy. The Slytherin had made it clear from the beginning that he would hold ultimate power over the Four Houses. This meant Harry would simply be a vassal to be commanded and discarded at Malfoy's whim and he told Malfoy as such.

The blonde smirked. "Then as a beneficent leader, I have a greater responsibility to look after the well-being of my charges. I'm not so arrogant that I believe myself invincible and you have proven yourself time and time again to be a brave and trustworthy warrior—an asset to any commander. Thus, you can see why I would like to have you with me when I march to Beaubaxon two years hence."

Harry blinked. It all made sense now. After gaining control of the Four Houses, Malfoy would have enough power and funding to take control of Beaubaxon and, eventually, Durmstrang. With the might of the Durmstrang naval force, the Slytherin Prince could then move on to other lands across the sea, fulfilling his goal of bringing every living thing under his complete dominion. It was masterful and brilliant—something not even Snape's intelligence had been able to uncover.

"I'd like your cooperation on this, Harry," Malfoy continued, reaching over to place a hand on Harry's knee. His intense silver eyes bore into Harry's own, demanding and implacable. Harry wondered if this was what it was like to be hypnotized, for suddenly he felt most eager to please the blonde prince. "Your reputation alone could open many doors. Not many would want to go up against The-Boy-Who-Lived, especially once he's aligned with his former nemesis."

Malfoy withdrew his hand and Harry felt himself flush. He hadn't known how close he had been to agreeing until the words were on his lips. It was fortunate that at that moment, Colin had returned with the refreshments. His entrance distracted Harry long enough to break eye-contact with Malfoy's feverish gaze.

"Think about it, Potter," the blonde whispered in Harry's ear, as he reached over the dark haired boy for a goblet of wine. Harry could feel Malfoy's hot breath ghosting across his cheek and shivered. He could've sworn Malfoy's tongue had briefly licked the shell of his ear. "There's no doubt that you and I together would make a very formidable team. You'll see soon enough how much easier life will become under my guided instruction. Petty inter-House disputes over land and power will cease. A unitary regime will be put in place to standardize the quality of live of hundreds of thousands of citizens. The people will prosper and we shall enter a Golden Age such as the likes that have only been heard of since the days of the Founding."

Harry, whose throat was parched from, had drunk thirstily from his own cup. To his chagrin, the combined effects of alcohol and Malfoy's speech were making him feel very heady. The more he listened, the more reasonable it all sounded. Malfoy seemed so earnest, so very eager to bring about an era of peace that it was difficult not to be caught up in his enthusiasm. It was rather intoxicating.

Suddenly, it was important for Harry to leave the confines of the Slytherin's luxurious apartments, if only to clear his head for a moment and think. He deliberately moved away from Malfoy, leaving an appropriate distance between them. "I need some air."

"If it pleases you," the blonde prince frowned slightly at his guest's abruptness. As Harry stood to leave, Malfoy caught his wrist to stop him. At such an intimate gesture, the dark haired man flushed, but did not remove his hand. Shying away would have been a sign of weakness.

"Before you leave, I wonder if you wouldn't mind fulfilling a small request," Malfoy said softly, looking up enticingly.

Harry hesitated, unsure if he was ready to entertain another proposition. "I suppose it depends on the request."

"It's nothing would violate our previous terms," the Slytherin continued slyly, his thumbs circling lazy patterns on Harry's wrist, before finally resting on his pulse point. Harry fought the urge to snatch his hand away, sure that his galloping heartbeat would betray his nervousness. "And I'm sure someone with your reputation would enjoy such a challenge."

At this point, Harry was almost afraid to find out what the blonde prince had in mind but nodded gamely. The Gryffindor in him wouldn't allow anything less and Harry silently cursed his obstinacy.

Malfoy smiled this time, and the dark haired man was strongly reminded of a cat with a bowl of cream. "Harry James Potter, I, Draconis Lucius Malfoy, hereby challenge you to a wizard's duel."

* * *

_TBC-- Part Three: The Betrayal_


	3. The Betrayal

**Terms of Surrender  
_Part Three: The Betrayal_**

**Author's Notes: **It's finished! The last part has been split up to accommodate both Harry and Draco's POV although with the formatting issues I've been having, I'm not sure if the lines will pop up.  
**The Background:** Wizard duels have different rules in this world, but still hold similar rituals to the duels described in the Harry Potter-verse. The main difference is that introduction of weapons, encourages close quarter combat, forcing the two opponents to switch back and forth between long and short-range attacks.  
**Disclaimer: **The not owning prevents the suing.  
**Summary:** AU As a gesture of good-will, the Champion of Gryffindor is sent to negotiate the terms of surrender with Voldemort's heir-apparent. A peace treaty won't be the only thing on the table. HD.

* * *

As the Gryffindor Champion, wizard's duels were second nature to Harry. They were battles which pit two opponents against each other in a test of magical and physical endurance. First both contenders acknowledged each other by bowing and then they tried very hard to force their opponent to yield in a series of magical and physical blitzes. Incapacitating one's challenger was the equivalent of a yield and kept mortality to a minimum.

Largely used as a method of solving disputes, wizard's duels were popular among those who sought to make a name for themselves as warriors. Every five years, an intra-House competition took place to select the Four Champions, who embodied the strength of each Noble House. Harry had been chosen earlier that year, having beaten twelve other contenders for the title. He had been an unusual case, having strengths in both magic and weaponry.

Malfoy, on the other hand, did not hold the title of Slytherin Champion, having chosen to forgo the selection process. Dumbledore had suspected the lack of title was another tactical ploy designed to make Malfoy's enemies underestimate him and had warned Harry to be extra cautious if he ever confronted the blonde in combat.

A few days ago, Harry would've agreed, but having met the Slytherin Prince face-to-face, he was now likely to disagree with Dumbledore's warning. The blonde's smooth, aristocratic hands showed no signs of strenuous physical training, nor did his complexion show he spent time outside practicing. Confronted with Malfoy's slim build and shorter stature, Harry was of the opinion that the intelligence Dumbledore had received had been bad.

Furthermore, Malfoy showed his ignorance of wizard's duels by dismissing Harry's generous offer to allow him his weapon of choice after the dark haired man announced his intention to use a sword. Interestingly enough, none of the spectators which surrounded the battle area seemed too concerned either.

"Daggers?" Harry looked skeptical as he selected a light sword from the array of weapons that had been offered to him. He swung it experimentally and was satisfied with the weight. He had shed his layers, and was now wearing a wrap much like Malfoy's, albeit scarlet in color. Harry was pleased to discover that his legs had more freedom of movement, no longer constrained by robes. "Are you sure you wouldn't be better off with a sword? Or a spear, perhaps?"

"I'm quite satisfied with my choice," Malfoy said airily, taking his place on one side of the field.

As was common in wizard's duels, neither man held a shield, with the expectation of using his free hand for magical attacks. The blonde licked his lips and smirked before crouching in a defensive position. "Scared, Potter?"

At the feral look in the serpent prince's mercury eyes, Harry couldn't help but grin. "You wish."

Without warning, Malfoy took off running and launched himself, towards Harry. The twin blades of his serpentine daggers flashed in the sunlight, momentarily blinding the dark haired boy. Harry cursed and threw his weight to the right, clumsily dodging the first attack. As he pivoted to regain his balance, Harry stifled a grunt of pain when he realized that Malfoy had managed to score a wicked looking cut on his calf, which was now bleeding freely.

Growling, the dark-haired warrior trained his sword on the blonde haired prince as Malfoy weaved back and forth, eyes dancing in anticipation.

"Is this the legendary skill which defeated Voldemort?" Malfoy jeered. "I was rather hoping that you would put up more of a fight, Potter."

"And have your Inferi descend on me like a pack of wolves after I kill you?" Harry shot back as he watched Draco crouch, preparing for another attack. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

The blonde bared his teeth. "And who's to say I won't be the one to kill _you_ if you don't start taking me seriously, Potter?" Silver eyes flashed and Harry tensed, anticipating another flying tackle, but instead of launching himself, Malfoy stabbed the ground beneath him, embedding a dagger into the sand before raising his hand.

The dark haired warrior had only a brief moment to register the greenish glow emanating from Malfoy's palm and raise his arms in defense before he was struck viciously with a blast of magic. Harry's neck whipped back upon impact as his entire body was lifted from the ground and flung backward into a tent, which promptly collapsed under his weight. The damage was minimal compared to what it could have been, which meant that the Slytherin had used less than half of his power. Cursing himself for being so careless, Harry groped for his sword, which he had luckily managed to hang on to. "Is that all you've got, Malfoy?" he fought to hide a grimace of pain. "I barely felt it."

A bark of laughter was his only warning before another blast of magic ripped through the air and exploded in the very spot Harry had landed only a few moments before.

Except, he was no longer there.

Flinging himself out of the path of Malfoy's magical blast, Harry had avoided the brunt of the blow and had cast a few shots of his own towards the source of the attack. The Slytherin leapt backwards, nimbly avoiding them. His speed was remarkable and made Harry feel ten times slower than usual. The dark haired boy frowned. If individual bursts wouldn't be able to touch him, perhaps a large one would.

Grunting, Harry adopted a similar crouch and buried his hands in the sand, ignoring the pain in his leg. He gathered his magic and sent a large blast towards Malfoy. The ground shook and suddenly, a huge wave of sand sprung up, rolling towards the blonde. Malfoy looked surprised at the amount of magic Harry was able to summon and promptly began to spin in place.

The wall of sand, instead of crushing the Slytherin, was sucked into his vortex and became a threatening cyclone of sand, which began to make it's way to Harry, with Draco at the center to direct it.

Harry soon discovered that his magic was unable to penetrate the sand to reach Malfoy. Once he blast a hole on one side, more sand would rush in to fill in the gap, quickly obscuring the blonde from sight again. Harry was forced to duck and dodge the onslaught of the cyclone with all the acrobatic ability he could muster, hampered as he was with his earlier wounds. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to escape every attack, and received more than a few cuts from Malfoy's dagger when he was particularly slow to move.

Cursing his leg, Harry was struck with an idea. Concentrating his magic on the very tip of the cyclone, he unleashed a blast of energy at the weakest point of Malfoy's defense—his legs.

At once, the cyclone collapsed as the Slytherin Prince lost his footing and the sand scattering to the winds, blinding the spectators. Harry, on the other hand, was prepared and hand shielded his eyes with his robes. He took advantage of Malfoy's momentary disorientation and pounced.

For such a slender man, Malfoy was quite capable of handling himself in close quarter skirmishes. He punched, bit and clawed his way on top of Harry, using any underhanded techniques he could to gain the advantage. Harry, who was used to more formalized wrestling, was taken by surprise as Malfoy's knee caught him in the abdomen, while the blonde simultaneously bit the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Gasping in pain, Harry couldn't help but be keenly aware of Malfoy's squirming form on top of his, their bare chests pressed closely against each other, while the blonde's leg was hooked firmly to his own, bringing their hips in alignment. The Slytherin also seemed to be aware of their unorthodox position and smirked at Harry. "Enjoying yourself down there?"

The dark haired boy snarled in frustration. This wasn't how a wizard's duel was supposed to be fought. Malfoy was intentionally disregarding every rule of ritual combat. Harry began to realize that he would need to fight unconventionally if he had any chance of winning. So far, all of Malfoy's surprise attacks had made him flustered and lose focus. He would need that same element of shock if he wanted to gain the upper hand.

So, contrary to all his instincts as a warrior, Harry stopped trying to shove Malfoy away and instead, pulled him closer.

If asked, Harry would be unable to say who was more surprised by the kiss: him, Malfoy or the gaggle of spectators who had gathered, but it served its purpose of off-balancing the blonde enough, so that Harry could free his legs and shove the Slytherin away from him in one fluid motion.

Malfoy was thrown backwards, but landed in a defensive crouch, while Harry rolled and grabbed the hilt of his long-forgotten sword, before training his blade on the Slytherin.

They were now back to where they had originally started, though both were panting with exertion. Sand had gotten in Harry's cuts and stung sharply each time he moved, the dark haired man gritted his teeth. This was no time for distractions. Likely, they had only enough energy to launch one final attack before collapsing of exhaustion.

Malfoy seemed to be of the same mindset, for he slowly straightened, unsheathing his daggers from their hidden holsters in his boots. Hefting one of the daggers thoughtfully, Malfoy smirked. "Catch."

Emerald eyes widened in surprise as Malfoy's arm whipped forward, propelling the dagger straight toward his chest. There was no time to dodge, so Harry did the only thing he could. Sluggishly, the Gryffindor Champion pulled back his sword, which now felt ten times heavier than usual, and swung wildly, in an attempt to deflect the oncoming weapon. The edge of his blade connected, but the pommels of Slytherin Prince's daggers must have been weighted with lead because upon impact, it sent Harry's lighter sword flying.

The Gryffindor Champion watched as his blade spun twice in the air, before landing uselessly on the sand. At the same time, from the corner of his eye, Harry noticed another flash of green. The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back, staring up at the amused face of one Draconis Malfoy.

"I'm impressed," the blonde said above the wild cheers of his men. Draco gestured impatiently to someone on the side to bring him refreshment. Colin hurriedly rushed forward.

"Why?" Harry mumbled dizzily, the edges of his vision flickering. "I lost."

He found it was getting harder to concentrate on the blonde prince standing over him as his vision began to swim and was vaguely aware that he had lost all sensation in his left leg. In fact, each breath was harder to hold than the last. Harry tried to tell this to Malfoy, but all that issued from his lips was a labored breath.

"That was inevitable," The blonde shrugged, seemingly unaffected by the sight of Harry sprawled beneath him. "I cheated."

Smirking, Malfoy held up one of his curved daggers and in the dying rays of the setting sun, Harry could see a slick sheen which coated the entire blade. Poison.

Harry tried to muster up feelings of righteous anger, but all he felt was the weary knowledge that all had been lost. Everything he and the Order had worked to achieve was now going to die with him and Malfoy would become the undisputed Dark Tyrant of the Four Noble Houses. He closed his eyes. At least now he could finally take a long deserved rest.

Cool fingers traced his jaw, tilting his chin up, and Harry felt a pair of soft lips touch his own.

Then, sweet blessed relief.

* * *

Draco supervised as the Inferi he summoned carried Potter's unconscious body back to his tent. The Gryffindor's face looked terribly pale and only the fact that he was breathing shallowly attested to his tenuous grip on this world.

It had taken the blonde haired man longer than expected to subdue Potter, and as a result the poison had more time to work into his system, slowly paralyzing the dark haired man's limbs and lungs. It would have eventually moved on to his heart had Draco not administered the antidote directly and even now it looked as if Potter may not survive after all.

Blasted Gryffindors and their obstinacy. He watched with no small amount of irritation as the fan boy followed Potter's body anxiously, arms full of salve and bandages to dress the Gryffindor's many cuts.

When they finally arrived back to his apartments, Draco had the satisfaction of dismissing the over-eager slave and his minions, leaving him alone with an unconscious Harry Potter. Creevey had cast one fearful glance at the two of them before retiring.

Laying on the bed, the Gryffindor Champion looked younger and very vulnerable. The color was slowly returning to his face as his heart began beating normally. Potter's hair was mussed, no doubt by the sand storm earlier, and fell across his face in messy clumps.

Draco reached down and brushed it away. His fingers came across the lightning bolt scar in the middle of Potter's forehead, which seemed more distinct than before. He gently traced the scar tissue in its zig-zag pattern, moving down Harry's nose until his finger rested on Harry's lips.

He had been given a brief taste not once, but twice, and yet both of those times had not been enough. He had been caught off-guard the first, and preoccupied with saving the Gryffindor's life the second time, and so here he was, standing over Potter, while his body thrummed with desire.

Draco quickly climbed onto the bed, throwing one leg over Potter until he was comfortably straddled on the Gryffindor's hips. Slowly, he lowered himself until he was face to face with the unconscious man, his lips inches away from Harry.

As if he realized the position he had been placed in, Harry moaned, and turned his head away.

Draco scowled. Even in his sleep Potter still found ways to thwart his plans.

Potter's eyes fluttered open. He looked momentarily confused by his surroundings, but quickly ascertained the situation. "You tipped your daggers in poison," Harry rasped. It was a statement, not a question. The dark haired man looked more surprised than upset, as if he simply could not comprehend such a blatant disregard of fair play.

"Did you honestly believe I would've done any differently given the chance?" Draco asked bluntly. "I had to take every precaution to ensure the duel was in my favor, but I admit you made it easier than I thought. Had you examined the contents of the wine that was offered earlier, you might have picked up on the mild sedative which was slipped in your drink. Given that, you might have dodged my first attack and escaped the worst of the poison's effects.

"Do grow up, Potter," Draco said exasperatedly, applying liberal amounts of healing cream on Harry's arms. "You're alone in enemy territory, in the midst of a very delicate peace negotiation that will decide the fate of the Four Houses and ultimately the lands beyond. You can't afford to be so naïve."

Harry coughed, smiling weakly. "Constant vigilance."

"Precisely," Draco said. He began treating the cuts on Potter's face. The Gryffindor flushed an attractive shade of red as he was forced to patiently submit to Draco's ministrations. He was taking his time tending to Harry, deliberately smearing liberal amounts of cream and wrapping bandages around the worst of the cuts. His hands lingered over Potter's body, stroking the tanned skin absently as he worked.

The dark haired boy shifted restlessly, looking uncomfortable at the intimate contact.

"Although, perhaps my company _has_ taught you something after all," Draco smirked, "That was quite a stunt you pulled at the end."

"I'm not proud of what I did," Harry said softly. He closed his eyes as if reminiscing. "I knew you weren't expecting it, so I thought it would give me a momentary advantage—enough so that I could throw you off. I just wanted to win. Forgive me."

"Should I punish you, Harry?" Draco whispered in Potter's ear. "Maybe that will teach you not to be such a tease."

At this, Harry's emerald eyes snapped open. "I never--"

"Shut-up," Draco growled before capturing Harry's lips in a soul searing kiss, fingers gripping painfully on Harry's raven locks. The effect was immediate as both of their magics reacted simultaneously, causing everything within a five-foot radius to be blown back by the very force of their joining.

The effect intensified as Potter was finally able to ground himself and struggled weakly in Draco's grip, trying to push the blonde away. The magnetic pull which had drawn both men inexorably closer refused to be parted, lashing tighter. Draco did nothing to help, pouring the remainder his magic into maintaining the bond, his body crying out in pleasure at the dual magical currents that were running between him and Harry.

Potter gasped, and Draco took the opportunity to delve deeper into the brunette's mouth, mercilessly tasting and claiming. His hands inched downward, undoing the clasps on the Gryffindor's clothes and would have continued happily had it not been for the sudden pain in his chest. The blonde blinked, still disoriented from the magical connection and felt as a second dagger plunged into his back, puncturing his left lung.

Draco coughed, the taste of blood now in his mouth, and turned to see the pale face of Colin Creevey, slowly backing away from the dying prince. Draco snarled and tried to summon the Inferi, but found his magic refused to obey, still tightly intertwined with Harry's own. The Gryffindor looked grim, as it was now he who was pouring magic into the bond, neutralizing the Slytherin Prince.

The two daggers were the same ones he had used in his duel with Potter, the poison still fresh on the blade. With the entry wound so close to his heart, he knew he only had a matter of minutes to live. "How?" Draco asked, struggling to control his breathing.

"Colin," Harry said simply, looking at Draco with sympathy. The serpent prince fought to stifle a hiss of frustration. "Your men picked him up during a raid a few months ago. He was a plant—a newly inducted member of the Order in disguise. After he was in place, it was only a matter of time before we would meet face-to-face. Luckily, Colin was with you when we did. It made it easier to slip him instructions.

"Soon, you will be dead, and the bulk of your Inferi forces will disintegrate. The three regiments you sent off have been taken care of by a hidden contingent which has been lying in wait for the better part of a week. Your army will be leaderless and confused. They will be easily routed and what remains of your troops will scatter and be picked off one by one until they have all been wiped out." The dark haired man sounded less triumphant than Draco thought he would. In fact, if the blonde didn't know better, the Gryffindor Champion looked almost _guilty_.

"I just wanted to win," Potter said softly, reaching up to gently touch Draco's cheek. "Forgive me."

The irony was not lost on Draco. He smiled, an expression that was so unlike his previous ones that Potter seemed surprised. "Well played, Potter."

The edges of his vision flickered, and the blonde found that he could not stop looking at the Gryffindor's impossibly emerald eyes. They watched him with a mixture of sadness and regret. Draco had never been afraid of death, knowing ever since a young age that it would inevitably come for him. It wouldn't be long now. He could feel as each breath grew shorter and as each heartbeat grew fainter.

Perhaps it was only his imagination, when he felt a familiar pair of lips touch his own.


End file.
